


Days Of Wundagore

by Esteicy, Necropede, teal_bandit



Category: All New X-Factor, Avengers (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Anal Sex, Divorce, Explicit Language, Graphic Description, Guilt, Human Trafficking, Humiliation, M/M, Oral Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-02
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2019-10-03 00:38:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 22
Words: 20,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17273822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteicy/pseuds/Esteicy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Necropede/pseuds/Necropede, https://archiveofourown.org/users/teal_bandit/pseuds/teal_bandit
Summary: After M-Day, Pietro Maximoff is taken by a former mutant who makes him pay for his crimes by using his body. Months later, and he is freed by a group of old colleagues, but will he ever be able to fully recover?





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Esteicy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteicy/gifts), [Necropede](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Necropede/gifts).



Pietro sighed as he felt the warm breeze against his skin, the tall grass of the field rustling around him. He could hear the waves lapping against the shore in the distance. He could vaguely smell salt in the air, although it didn’t quite smell like the sea. He’d first seen this place during an assignment with the Avengers; a lovely plain in a secluded part of France. He must have subconsciously decided to add it to his “safe space” afterwards; the place he retreated to when he was in pain– whether it was from the beatings he received from his father or being tortured by one of the Avengers’ many enemies. He had been here for a while; or not long enough, he wasn’t sure.

The men around him were jeering, spouting every humiliating comment they could at him. Mocking him for the bruises they were leaving on his body, at the blood they were drawing from his mouth and his hole, which was currently stretched to an obscene width to accommodate the cocks of two of his master’s “patrons”. They were laughing at the cum collected all over him from the previous rounds of force-fucking he’d had to endure, at the pained grunts and whimpers escaping from him as they rammed into him as hard as they wanted to. One of the men was calling him various racist obscenities and proceeded to punch him in the ribs, causing him to lose his breath before he shoved his dick in the ex-avengers’ mouth.

Pietro gagged from the force, bile rising in his throat. Tears welled up in his eyes, clearing them out and brightening their color. “See, boys, I told you he’d be a good fuck. Beautiful, too; just look at those eyes,” the voice of his master lilted over from one corner of the room. The voice, which at one point would have been all he needed to hear to fuel him with hatred, was now enough to make him shudder in humiliation and submission. The man had started whoring him out months ago, shortly after coercing him into being his own perverse slave after M Day. The act of being taken, often by multiple men at once, was now a near-daily occurrence for Pietro.

“Shut up, Stan” called one of the men at his ass, jarring his victim’s frail body with each thrust, “we don’t care about the stupid fucks eyes.”

“Yeah,” agreed the man who had joined him at the man’s now-gaping hole nearly 15 minutes ago and had been the less forceful of them, “all we care about is how hard he’ll let us fuck him. Tight little bitch, isn’t he?”

The other man grunted his agreement, pushing farther into Pietro to accentuate his point. He laughed at the moan of pain coming from the man underneath him.

“Well, boys, go ahead and wrap it up, I’ve got another ‘appointment’ in about 15 and he wants the whore cleaned up before he has his fun with him.”

The men grumbled, but took back up their individual, yet brutal paces, fucking the ex-mutant with their full force before mixing their seed in with the others’ from before. They left and paid his “master” for letting them use him, leaving him lying on the cold floor. His master closed the door after them and crossed over to where he lay, head tossed to the side, trying to use the cold of the tile to get rid of his forming headache. He was met with a steel-toed boot to his ribs, knocking the wind out of him.

“Get up, cunt,” came the frigid voice, “get in the shower. And make sure you use cold water. Those bruises already look bad enough; I don’t want the new client freaked out.”

Pietro resisted the urge to vomit from the pressure forming at his ribs and from the thought of having to endure _another_ “appointment” today. He kept his eyes on the floor.

“Yes, sir.”

————————————————————————

He heard the door click in front of him. This man was alone, at least– didn’t bring any “friends” with him. And he had heard him ask his “master” to wait outside the door to “give them a little privacy.” Like he cared or something. There was something foreign in the drawl of his voice, but he couldn’t pin what the accent was. He kept his eyes directed at the tile, not even looking at the new client– the one who apparently wanted the evidence of any other man who had taken him that day gone before he got there. He heard the man approaching–quickly it seemed, since Pietro’s lack of superspeed had altered his perception of time.

“Dios mío,” came the soft voice, “you’re even worse off than we’d heard, hombre.”


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pietro is rescued by a friend of a colleague, another former mutant.

Pietro froze when he heard the voice in front of him, his eyes widening. ‘Wait, I  _know_ that voice,’ he thought, starting to panic, 'what is he doing here? He… He wouldn’t want me like that, would he? Unless– oh God. He’s one of the ones who lost his powers on M Day, isn’t he? I… Maybe I _should_ … I owe it to him… Whatever he wants–’

“Pietro,” Rictor whispered urgently, gently touching his shoulder to pull him out of his own thoughts, ”didn’t you hear me? We’re getting you out of here, dude.“

Pietro flinched slightly at the touch, expecting him to be much more cruel. He slowly raised his eyes to look at the man. He followed the kakhi jeans up to the green sweater to dark skin and green eyes. He looked back down to the sweater.

"Pietro,” he said sternly, cupping his chin with one hand and lifting his head, “ we  _are_ getting you out of here.” He felt pangs of guilt as he looked over the ex-Avengers’ face, noting the deep bruises and broken nose. When he had learned where the man was and how he had supposedly been treated, he had laughed coldly. He had believed he deserved it for all of the mutants his sister had devastated by taking their powers, him included. Looking at the state of him now– body covered in bruises, broken bones, obviously exhausted and possibly starved, and in that state for quite some time, if their source was to be believed– he felt sorry for him. Nobody deserved this.

“Why?” Pietro’s voice cracked, his throat raw from its earlier abuse and general disuse, as his “master” didn’t like him speaking, often beating him if he did.

Julio’s face scrunched in confusion. “What do you mean _why_?”

“Why… Would you come for me? I… I con…convinced Wanda to– to remake the world… Why–” Pietro stuttered and stumbled over his words, tears stinging the bottoms of his eyes. “Why would you rescue me?”

'Madre de dios,  _he_ thinks he deserves this,’ Julio thought, feeling his heart sink. “I–I don’t have time to give you an explanation right now, hombre,” he said softly, despite the welling indignant rage, “but, no. We’re getting you out and we’re doing it now.”

“Everything alright in there,” came the voice of the man outside the door. He slowly cracked it before opening it more fully, noticing his patron’s hand on his toy. “If you need it, I can bring you some lube, or condoms.”

Julio inclined his ear toward the man while keeping his eyes on Pietro. He felt the rage bubbling just under the surface as the white-haired man shrunk into himself, body language becoming somehow more submissive than before. “No, thank you, I’m fine,” he conceeded. “Like this will be fine.”

The man shrugged. “Alright, let me know if you change your mind. You’re his last appointment today, so take as much time as you want, although I may have to charge you extra,” he winked, sliding the door closed again.

Julio pressed his mouth into a thin line, his jaw clenched as he fought grinding his teeth. He breathed in slowly and forced the air back out of his mouth to calm him down–an increasingly difficult task, he found, especially without being able to feel the stability of the earth beneath him. He looked past Pietro, checking the room they were in. A bed with old sheets, a shabby leather chair, a wooden dresser. A couple of windows, both barred. Not that the windows would be of much use, as they were on the fifth floor and the fire escape was on the other end of the building. He would have to find a way to get him out though the door he came in by.

He walked quickly over to the bed, pulling off the flat sheet and the fitted one. He walked back over to Pietro, handing him the flat sheet before wrapping one end of the other around his hand. “Cover up with that,” he urged, “it may not be winter yet, but it’s November, which is pretty damn close.”

Pietro watched him numbly, obeying the command to cover himself before he asked: “What are you doing with _that_?”

Julio wrapped his hand tightly, using the better part of half the sheet to do so. “I’m gonna bust out that window,” he explained, “then, when he comes in here, I’m gonna bust his face a couple of times. Then,  _we're_ gonna run. Once we get out of the building, we’re gonna go left a couple of blocks. I’ll make sure no one is following us before we start going down to headquarters.”

Pietro listened to the plan, still not believing that it was really happening. He let Julio lead him to the corner of the room closest to the door and crouched there. Then, Julio broke the window on the other side of the room and his mind went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was the first time I had ever written for any member of X-Factor. I've read exactly 3 comics with Rictor in them, so I apologize for any characterization points I may have missed.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which X-Factor tries to figure out what to do with their new guest.

Pietro kept his eyes cast downward, soaking in as much warmth from the radiator as he could. Julio had been kind enough to provide him a pair of sweatpants, a sweater, and some socks–Maddrox’s probably, as they were similar in height. He didn’t remember most of the walk to the X-Factor headquarters in Mutant Town or the escape from his “master"s apartment. He trailed his eyes forward a bit and caught sight of Rictor’s scuffed shoes. He had excused himself to go wash his hands when they had arrived–they had been covered in the blood of his "master”.

The door slammed open, causing Pietro to flinch. “Hey, Rictor,” came Madrox’s piercing voice, “ I thought you just went in for recon? You weren’t supposed to try to move him _today_!”

“Maddrox, if you had _seen_ …” Julio started, lowly, “well, you can see for yourself. I couldn’t just leave him there.”

“There are plenty of people who would disagree with you, Richter,” came a decidedly feminine voice from behind Madrox. A blonde girl peered out from behind the group’s leader, shucking the dust off of her jacket.

“Layla…” Jamie started, “don’t be that way. Here, let me see.” He crossed the room to examine their refugee, crouching down to get a good look at his ex-teammate’s face. “Christ, Maximoff, what’d they  _do_ to you?”

“Nothing I didn’t have coming,” was the whispered reply. “Why did you search for me? To kill me?”

Jamie shot a questioning look at Julio, who shook his head in response. “Maximoff…. Pietro, we were looking for you to see if you knew where Wanda is. If there’s anyone who can fix this mess, it’s her,” he explained, resting his hand on the other’s upper arm, then retracting it when he saw that it made him flinch again. “Do you know where she is?”

Pietro furrowed his eyebrows, like he was concentrating. “No,” he sighed, “I haven’t seen her since that day…. Don’t know what’s happened to her.” Silent tears rolled down his cheeks. Even during all of the months he had been in that man’s possession, not a day went by that he didn’t think of his twin– didn’t wonder what had become of her, whether she was still alive or not, if she knew what had become of him. If she knew what had become of him…

“Pietro,” Jamie started, “she’s gone missing. No one can find her. We don’t have any reason to believe that she’s _dead_ , but…”

“But no one would be complaining if she was,” Layla quipped, standing deliberately over Pietro’s shoulder.

Jamie and Julio shot the girl withering stares.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Jamie looked in shock at the man in front of him. Not even a year ago, he would have berated or beaten anyone who would dare to threaten or speak ill of his sister. He reached forward and clasped his hands around his one-time-friend’s, growing more concerned when he noticed how cold they were. “Hey,” he said softly, “do… Do you want a cup of tea? Guido should be coming back with food in about an hour; give you some time to warm up and get something in your stomach.” He stood a few moments later when he didn’t get a response, going to the tiny kitchen adjacent to the room with the radiator. He put a mug of water in the microwave and pulled out the ironing board.

Pietro shuddered when he felt a warm blanket being wrapped over his shoulders, not expecting the contact. He looked at the source of the fabric and saw a familiar set of hands offering him a mug.

“Be careful,” Maddrox warned, “it’s still pretty hot.”

Pietro blinked, causing more tears to fall. He nodded and clutched the cup to himself, as if it– if all of it– would disappear if he let go. Maddrox motioned for Julio to follow him into the kitchen.

————————————————————————

“What are we gonna  _do_ about him? I’ve known the guy for a while, Rictor and I’ve  _never_ seen him like this.”

“What did you have in mind,” the ex-mutant replied, leaning on the counters.

Jamie shrugged frustratedly. “I– I don’t know… We could call the Avengers.”

“Jamie, two things: one: since  _when_ have the Avengers ever been willing to help mutants? Two: the Avengers wanted his sister dead, which is what caused all of this, if I remember correctly,” the man reminded him. He had heard through the proverbial grapevine that the Scarlet Witch had killed some of her teammates in a fit of grief and rage, causing them to hunt her down just before M-Day had happened.

Jamie shook his head. “He needs to be looked after… Preferably by someone who cares about him, which I doubt he’ll find here, even with Guido and myself being on the team. Rahne always liked him too, but I doubt she’d want him around after all this.”

Layla popped her head through the door frame. “Just dump him off somewhere. It’s not like he won’t find shelter; half of these old apartments are abandoned.”

“No.” The men answered in unison, causing them to look at each other with some small amusement before continuing.

“You’ve seen him, Jamie, he won’t survive a week out there if we let him go.”

“But where would we send him? How would we get him there?”

Julio shook his head, biting the insides of his mouth in thought. After some time had passed, he finally shrugged his shoulders. “We could always keep him here for right now, until we come up with a plan.”

“I don’t see that going over well with some of the others. I’m  _surprised_ it’s going over that well with  _you_ ,” he stated, running his hands over his face. “God, if only anybody knew where Lorna was. She’d probably have some ideas.”

“Depending on her circumstances, I’d say that her ideas probably wouldn’t help him either,” Rictor pointed out.

Jamie shot his head up. “Hey, you know what? I think I remembered something he told me about when he was in X-Factor. Let me go ask him real quick.”

‘Good luck getting an answer out of him, compádre,’ the man thought, sighing as he leaned back farther.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I've only read a handful of X-Factor comics, so my portrayal of the characters may not be very accurate. Jamie Madrox needs hugs and Layla Miller needs reckt.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pietro can't tell dreams from reality and Jamie is an absolute f/cking sweetheart.

Pietro shivered as the cold metal of he knife was pressed to his neck. He tried squirming away, but his wrists and ankles were tied securely to the bedpost. His “master” watched from the wall, making sure this client didn’t “damage his goods”. He whimpered as the man dragged the dull edge over his chest, stopping to purposely knick a couple of spots. Not enough to draw blood, but enough to sting.

He repeated the action over his stomach, but decided to drag the knife shallowly across his navel, cutting a small line from a few inches on one side to the other. Pietro gasped.

“You give me any trouble, whore, and I’ll give you worse than _that_ ,” the gruff voice threatened. The man reached down between the ex-Avengers’ cheeks and began prodding at his hole with large fingers. He inserted one roughly and, as the body beneath him continued to squirm and clench tightly around him, trying to expel the digit, he brought down the knife with his other hand, placing the width of the blade firmly against the inside of one cheek. The body froze.

“Here,” the “Master” said, tossing a bottle onto the bed, “don’t go it dry, I don’t want to take it to a hospital.”

The client simply huffed in agreement, pouring some of the lube onto his fingers before shoving them roughly back at the man beneath him. One finger, then two, then three were all inserted in quick succession, with next to no time for the ex-mutant to relax to make the pain lessen. The man then quickly lubed his cock and aligned it with the stretched hole.

He set a rough pace, hard and jerky and painful. Pietro whimpered underneath him and grunted in pain in time with each thrust. The man breathed heavily above him, the stink of his breath hitting Pietro’s nostrils as he bit on his neck, putting pressure on his shoulders with his hands.

“Fuck this bitch is tight,” the man gasped, quickening his pace and drawing a groan of pain from the white-haired man. The groan coming from beneath him must have tipped him over; he spilled his seed into the man only moments later. He pulled out, watching the cum dribble out of the used hole before lining his dick back up with it and forcing the seed back into it. He thrusted a couple of extra times for good measure before pulling out. The man cleaned up and paid for his “service”, then was gone.

The master came back into the bedroom and opened the fly of his pants, taking his cock into his hand, right beside Pietro’s head.

“That dumb fucker,” he mocked, “he doesn’t know a piece of art when he sees one. He doesn’t see how beautiful you are– how beautiful you’ve _become_ , since I’ve found you.” He stroked his cock beside Pietro’s face, forcing the man to watch by tangling his other hand in his white hair. “Open up, bitch,” he commanded.

Pietro complied, opening his mouth wide enough to let the head of his “master"s dick slip past his lips and onto his tongue. He felt the shaft going farther and farther down his throat until his nose hit fabric. He tried desperately not to gag as his "master” forced his cock into his mouth over and over again, not letting him breathe properly. He tasted the precum on his tongue before the shaft was removed entirely, causing him to cough. He was made to watch as his “master” continued to stroke himself–much quicker now, and stringing together praises and obscenities that made Pietro want to be sick. He came on Pietro’s face, the sticky substance trailing over his nose and mouth and catching on his eyelashes– he even managed to get some in his hair.

“Absolutely fucking _stunning_ ,” the man praised, “a few more bruises and you’d be a goddamned masterpiece.” He let go of the ex-mutant’s hair and , when the man turned his face away, he fisted the white locks again, forcing him to look at him again. “Now hear this, _pet_ ,” he growled, “you’ll learn to appreciate what I’ve done and what I’m letting these people do to you– after all, you owe it to me and to the rest of the mutants who lost their powers because of you and your cunt sister. You belong to me now,” he warned, “and I am  _never_ letting anyone take you from me.”

Pietro’s vision faded out; when he woke up, it was in a different bed, and he was clothed but not restrained. Sickness hit him like a train and he got up to search for a bathroom. He stumbled into the hallway and sped to the only room with a light on before rushing in, closing the door, and losing whatever dinner he’d been given into the toilet. He stayed in that spot for several minutes–until all that was being lost was bile and saliva. He was sobbing silently between heaves and trying to remember where he was. He couldn’t remember–the dream, or memory, maybe– was fresh in his mind and was affecting him in ways that he had felt only a handful of times before in his life. If he  _was_ still with the “master”, he was going to take this opportunity. He stood as best he could on wobbling legs and searched the rest of the room. On the sink, there was a shaving razor.

Pietro sat with the blade in his hands, not thinking. He tested the sharpness of the blade across the back of his hand. It was dull– it would probably take a few times before he would hit deep enough to bleed out. And what if he didn’t _die_? If the “master” found him and saved him, he would likely be beaten to within an inch of his life and then whored out again. Pietro began sobbing again, not knowing what he should do. He wanted death, but if he failed, the price would be worse than any hell that would be waiting for him. He beat his head in frustration before raking his nails down his face hard enough to break skin.

“Hey, Ma–Pietro,” came a voice from the other side of the door, “are you okay? You’ve been in here for a while…”

Pietro froze, terrified. That was  _not_ his “master"s voice, but he _did_  recognize it. The door opened to reveal an old co-worker, who judging by his concern, must have heard him being sick in this bathroom. His hands trembled; he didn’t remember being _here_.

Jamie looked down, catching sight of the razor that the ex-Avenger was still holding. He crouched down and helped the man stand, taking the razor and tossing it into the sink. He asked him what he’d been doing, what he’d been _thinking_. When he didn’t get a response, he used his abilities–still intact after M-Day, thankfully– and created five more of himself.

Pietro shook. He wasn’t sure of Maddrox’s intentions and was positive that he would try to beat out whatever information he wanted from him, until he felt the original Maddrox slip his arms over his shoulders and press into him. He felt another set of arms sneak over his ribs, grabbing tightly over his stomach while the face of the dupe rested on the shoulder opposite Jamie. Another slipped one arm onto his back while wrapping the other one around Maddrox to press him closer while yet another did the same to the dupe behind him. The final pair took ahold of one hand each, rubbing the backs of them, with one taking a wash cloth to the spot he’d cut.

Maddrox felt the body being essentially squished beneath him and his dupes still for a moment before shaking again, this time because he was crying. ‘Well at least he’s not acting like he’s afraid of me anymore,’ he thought, offering up murmurs of comfort along with his dupes.

Between the whispers of "it’s okay”, “we’ve got you”, and “you’re safe” as well as various shushing, Pietro felt Jamie whisper into his shoulder: “we’re taking you to Wundagore Mountain tomorrow.”


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the gang brings Pietro back to his birthplace

Pietro sat in the passenger area of the plane Jamie had borrowed “from an old friend”. He tried thinking of something– _anything_ – but nothing would come. He hadn’t been able to feel anything but fear and self-hatred for so long, the thoughts of anything but all of the reasons he should feel those things seemed foreign to him. All trains of thought lead back to the same point: he deserved to be hated and to hate himself, if not for M- Day, then for being weak enough to let himself be used the way he had been since then. It had only been a couple of days since his rescue at the hands of X-Factor, and it felt like less and more time simultaneously. He hadn’t been sure what to think when Madrox had offered to take him to Wundagore Mountain to recover from the trauma of the past several months; he doubted they would take him in if they knew what he had done–and what he had allowed to be done to him.

“We’ll be landing in just a few more minutes,” came Jamie’s voice over the intercom, “fasten your seatbelts.”

The other passengers–Rictor and Guido– fastened their belts and checked to make sure Pietro had fastened his. It had been strange, being in the company of people he hadn’t seen in several years. Especially when all of those people had reason to hate him, but kept their opinions to themselves. He half-expected that Madrox had told them about his breakdown the other night. Guido had tried making conversation with him at the beginning of the flight, but had given up about 15 minutes in, opting to talk to Rictor instead, asking if he had heard from Shatterstar at all, what he had been up to (outside of rescuing Quicksilver, of course), how Rahne was, blah blah blah. Rictor had responded as curtly as he could without being impolite, but was more interested in watching Pietro, making sure that he wasn’t trying to do anything he’d regret.

The plane descended; Pietro could feel the altitude shift in his ears. Any minute now, he would be face-to-face with an old set of colleagues– people who had thought the world of him when he had been assigned to lead them just three years ago. He was terrified.

———————————————————————–

“Pietro,” came a low, gentle voice from farther down the landing strip, “my dear child! It’s so good to see you!” A tall, anthropomorphic cow ambled steadily to where the group was standing. She reached the small crowd and immediately wrapped her arms around her godchild, concerned at how he was stiffening. She pulled away and cupped his face in her hands, trying to get him to look at her. “Pietro, dearest, you’re so pale… And thin– have you been eating at all? Mister Madrox didn’t tell me what the occasion is over the radio…”

“Bova,” the ex-mutant whispered, trying not to let his voice break, “I… I can’t…”

“Darling, whatever is wrong?” She rubbed his cheek with her thumb, trying to coax what information she could out of him. “Why– you’re crying… Oh, come inside dear.” She lead him to the entryway about thirty yards away from where they’d been standing. She puzzled over what could have possibly happened to him to put him in this state. ‘Poor thing,’ she thought, 'he’s never been very forthright with his emotions, and I don’t believe I’ve  _ever_ seen him cry. I do hope he’s alright. I hate to see him like this…’

“One of us should probably stay with him,” Jamie offered, “just to keep an eye on him…”

Guido didn’t say anything, opting to simply turn and walk back towards the plane. Rictor sighed. “He’ll be fine here. That…. Cow… Lady seemed to know what she’s doing. Besides, you say he used to work with these people? They should take care of him well enough.”

“He used to work with Guido and me, too,” Jamie retorted before sighing dejectedly. “I guess you’re right. If they have trouble, they can always call us or something, right?”

He walked with Rictor back to the plane, pausing to take one last look behind him as he saw Pietro slip into the darkness behind the door. 'I hope he’ll be okay…’

————————————————————————

Bova stopped just inside of the doorway, sure that no one could hear them before putting her hand on Pietro’s shoulder, her head shooting up in surprise when he flinched. “Pietro…. My sweet child, what’s wrong? What’s happened to you? Where is your sister? Who were those men who brought you here?”

Pietro averted his gaze; he couldn’t possibly look her in the eyes. He tried relaxing under her touch, but he couldn’t bring himself to do even that. Her hand, always so gentle, such an anchor for him, felt like an anvil. “I don’t know where Wanda is. Those men… I used to work with two of them, Guido and Madrox… They wanted to know where Wanda is too, but I don’t know where she is, I’m sorry…. I’m sorry…”

Bova cocked her head to one side, brow furrowed. “And what about _you_ , child? Where have  _you_ been? You’ve never been– I’ve never seen you like this… What’s happened to you?”

Pietro looked at the ground, pressing his lips into a tight, quivering line. “I– I can’t tell you…”

“Why not,” the bovine woman asked, rubbing small circles into his shoulder.

“Because you would hate me. And you would be right to.”


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bova and the New Men vow to help their good friend.

Bova slid the door shut behind her, forcing her head up. She would wait to lower it until she got back to her room. The High Evolutionary already knew their guest had arrived, all that was left was to tell him why he had come, not that he wasn’t welcome–the Master had made sure to tell him so when he resigned his position as Captain of the Knights of Wundagore. She would wait until morning to tell him; she wasn’t sure she was able to tell him right now. She walked swiftly to her room, passing Sir Tyger and Lady Ursula in the corridors. She forced a smile on her face and bade them goodnight before turning into the hallway and into her chambers.

She shut the wooden door behind her and slid down the length of it, gravity pulling her down with much more force than it had any right to. She buried her face in her large hands and wept. She felt as if someone were clenching her heart in their fist. She felt overwhelmed at what she had learned from Pietro.

‘Who,’ her mind screamed, 'who could _possibly_ be that cruel?! Who would do that to such a good-hearted man?! They had _no right_!!’ She sobbed until her head was fit to split open, hiccupping as she made her way to the restroom adjoining her room. She splashed water over her face and ran cold water over a cloth, pressing it to her head. She took a drink from the faucet and went to lay down. She tried closing her eyes, but kept repeating what Pietro had confessed to her in her head. She never would have thought that he would manipulate his sister like that, but she knew he was afraid for her life. Worse, she knew he was leaving  _something_ out, but hadn’t refused to tell her–with a lot of coaxing and some warm food and drink–everything that had happened since then– about his “master”, his forced prostitution, the horrible beatings and abuse he’d endures at the hands of his “owner” and others. 'Where were the Avengers,’ she wondered incredulously, 'where was Wanda? They’re his friends… His _family_ … Why didn’t they help him?!’ She began crying again as she remembered that he  _told_ her why… That he didn’t know where Wanda was and that his “friends” had wanted both of them dead by the time M-Day happened.

She shook her head, sniffling. He needed all the help he could get; it wouldn’t be easy breaking this news, but the others had to know or they could exacerbate his condition. She resolved to help him in any way that she could; the Master could learn about his experience tomorrow–he would be able to provide resources to help mend his body and mind. She hoped, anyway.

————————————————————————

The High Evolutionary motioned the other Knights into the room. “Bova has requested that you all join this meeting. As I’m sure you’ve heard, your former Captain, Pietro has returned to us and will be staying for an indefinite amount of time,” he explained, “please, Bova, explain to us what has brought him here.”

Bova picked at the skirt of her dress, trying to think of how to break the news gently. “Friends,” she began, “Pietro is… Is not well. There has been a lot that’s happened to him in a very short amount of time and he’s having trouble coping with all of it. Wanda, his sister, lost control of her powers and killed some of their teammates, and she had to go into hiding. Pietro brought her to their father in Genosha, where he convinced her to recreate reality. Something went wrong–I’m not sure what– and most of the world’s mutants lost their powers, Pietro included. I think he’s hiding something from me about what specifically happened, but I didn’t press him last night.

"After that day–M-Day they’re calling it– he was left in Brooklyn, alone. Wanda had gone missing and nobody’s seen her since. He roamed around the city for a time until he wound up in a place called Mutant Town. There, some man–Pietro didn’t tell me his name–found him half out of his mind and kidnapped him. He locked him in an apartment in Mutant Town and beat him for his crimes against Mutantkind. Eventually, the beatings turned to rape, and the rape turned into forced prostitution. That man starved him, humiliated him, forced him to lie with multiple strangers, and heaven knows what else. He was rescued only three days ago by the men who brought him to us, even though M-Day was nearly ten months ago. He’s spent probably close to nine months being abused, neglected, and tortured. He needs help. He needs  _us_ to help him.”

Lord Churchill placed his hand on her shoulder, handing her a handkerchief to wipe away her tears. She took the offer, wiping them away while placing the other hand on her companion’s.

“He shall have us,” the dog-man stated solemnly. “Lord Pietro is a fine man, not deserving of the fate that rapscallion placed upon him.”

Lord Tyger growled his agreement. “We shall do everything in our power to ensure his recovery, shall we not, Lord Ram?”

Lord Ram scanned the room, watching all of his men’s eyes focus on him. He looked at Bova, who was awaiting his answer with baited breath, trying to hold back her tears. He uncrossed his arms and stood at attention.

“Lord Pietro was once our Captain during a time of great need. We owe it to him and to our honor as Knights of Wundagore to assist him in any way he may need. Men, you are under  _my_ orders to ensure that his recovery is smooth and unimpeded. Miss Bova,” he inquired, “is there anything else we need to know?”

Bova let out a shuddering sob of relief, shaking her head. When the others turned around, ready to resume their rounds about the fortress, she stopped them. “He doesn’t like being touched,” she called out,“ not even by me. That monster in man’s clothing made sure of that. And be careful about calling our High Evolutionary 'Master’; he was forced to call that devil that.”

The New Men looked over at their creator for approval. When he had assured them that this would be fine, he gave them leave to go, but stopped Bova.

“I also believe that he is hiding something about the events leading to M-Day,” he stated, “we need to find out what. You say his powers are gone? We must find a way to restore them; his power worked differently than most mutants–he couldn’t turn it on and off. The speed he’s moving at now must be very difficult to manage.”

Bova bowed to her creator, thanking him through her tears. She felt a weight lift off her heart as he commanded her to spend as much time as she could around him. She knew that he and the others would do everything they could to help him–her foster child, the boy she had helped his mother deliver just 27 years ago. She would do everything she could as well.

————————————————————————

“Pietro,” Bova called from the other side of the door after knocking gently, “Dear child, are you awake yet?” She slid the door open as quietly as she could, looking over to his bed. No Pietro.

She entered into her foster child’s chambers, shutting the door behind her. She crossed over to the bed; the sheets were cold. “Pietro,” she called louder, beginning to worry, “darling, where are you?” She got her answer as she spied into the adjoining room. She stood in the doorway, trying to assess what she was seeing.

“Pietro, sweet thing,” she started, tears forming in her eyes, “what’s happened?”


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bova and the New Men do what they can to aid Pietro on his road to recovery.

Pietro looked up numbly at his foster mother, lacking the conviction to even wipe the blood from his hands and face and arms. Tears streamed down his face as he dropped his hands into his lap. He had been scratching himself again, hard enough to leave marks– to draw blood. He wished to god that he could feel _anything_ ; confessing to Bova last night had settled whatever rage and guilt he had been holding on to, leaving him empty. If he could just feel *something*…

“Pietro,” she started up again, coming closer to him and kneeling, “what’s happened? Did  _you_ do this? Please,” she begged, tears welling up in her large brown eyes, “what do you need me to do?”

Pietro felt a dull rending in his chest; he never should have done this– not if it upset Bova like this. He dropped his head, twisting the skin on his hands. “I’m sorry…. I’m sorry…”

Bova reached over as if she wanted to grab ahold of him, but stopped herself. She stood back up and silently left the room, bringing the bottle of water from Pietro’s nightstand back with her. Slowly, gently, she began washing away the blood. Pietro shook as she worked, torn between wanting to run away from her and wanting to fall into her arms and sob the way he had the bed last night.

“Pietro,” came the soft voice, “darling you must know that I love you. Regardless of what you’ve done or what you’ve been put through, nothing will ever change that. I helped bring you and your sister into this world– I’ve watched after you from afar for years afterward… You have a large place in my heart that can never  _ever_ be replaced.” She looked at his face, locking her eyes with his before clasping on hand with both of hers and continuing. “I want to help you. If I could make you forget all the hurt you’ve been through, I would– if I could take the pain from you on to myself, I would, 100 times over. I just— Pietro, I need to know _how_ …  _How_ can I help you?”

Pietro watched as the tears slid down the bovine woman’s long face. He was beginning to feel…. Something–he didn’t know what. But it was better than feeling nothing, even if it did make him feel like crying more. It hurt him to see Bova sad; it hurt worse to know that  _he_  caused it. The tears at his eyes began to feel hot again. “I don’t know” he admitted, “I don’t know, Bova, I’m sorry…” He leaned into her, letting her wrap him in her arms and envelop his small, weakened frame in her large, warm one. He nuzzled his face against her shoulder, letting the tears hit her shawl as she held him.

“We’ll find a way to work through this,” she assured. “Somehow, I know we will. You e always been so strong, Pietro, even when I know you haven’t felt it. I’ll be here with you. You don’t have to try alone.”

Pietro listened to the words of comfort and closed his eyes. He didn’t believe her words– if he were strong, he would have been able to protect his sister. If he were strong, he wouldn’t have let his father kill him. If he were strong, he wouldn’t have stayed drunk for a week after M-Day. If he were strong, he never would have stayed with his “master”. If he were strong, he wouldn’t be mutilating himself out of frustration and guilt. He wasn’t strong, and he didn’t deserve her help, though she freely gave it. He felt weak; he felt tired. He breathed in the familiar scent of her, of cotton and fresh mountain air and grass. He fell asleep cradled against her.

———————————————————————–

Lady Ursula and Lord Ram were in the mess hall when Pietro walked in, the smell of potatoes and cabbage hit him like a truck, immediately signaling a response from his near-empty stomach. He quickly and quietly sped over to the warmers and grabbed a plate, trying his best to avoid their gaze. When he took up a spot a couple tables away from them, he began to eat–slowly, trying not to make himself sick. He was so focused on the food that he hadn’t noticed the two Knights shift to his table. He jumped when he caught sight of Lord Ram’s horns out of the corner of his eye, nearly choking on a potato.

“Ah! Apologies, Lord Pietro,” the ram-man said, “I did not intend to startle you. Pray tell, did you rest well? It is one of the utmost precipices of rehabilitation.”

“Please,” Pietro interjected, “just ‘Pietro’…. I’m not your Captain anymore and….”’/and I don’t deserve your respect/’“… Nevermind. I’m resting… Enough, I think. And I don’t need… I’m not here for rehabilitation…” He looked away and resumed eating. His confiding in Bova must have done  _some_ good after all. He was starting to be stubborn again–prideful, even. He knew he still had a lot to process and a lot to learn to cope with, but he wasn’t about to stand for being pitied, especially when he didn’t deserve their empathy.

“You have much to recover from. We will help you in any way you need us to,” Lady Ursula assured. She raised her hand, seeing that he was ready to protest her. “Now, Lord Pietro–and it is still  _Lord_ Pietro, as you have always remained with the Knights at heart–do not attempt to dissuade me. You shall have our assistance wherever you need it. We are your _friends_ , and you are ours.”

Pietro shook his head, defeated. He remembered how headstrong the Knights were– no amount of persuasion could get them to change their minds once they had them set on something. He sighed and finished the rest of his plate. Perhaps some sword practice with Sir Ram later  _would_ help him…


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pietro has a conversation with his estranged wife

Pietro watched the face on telecast screen opposite him. He hadn’t expected his wife to be calling him; they hadn’t spoken in well over a year. Somehow, news of M-Day and it’s culprits had reached her on New Attillan. When she asked him where he had been and what he had been thinking, he told her. Maybe he should have tried to break the news more gently, but when she was standing there, accusing him, his self-loathing had gotten the better of him– he lost the emotional control that he had been working so hard on during these past few months at Wundagore mountain. All of the talks with Bova, the friendly banter with Sir Ram during their sword practice, book discussions with Sir Tyger, even the High Evolutionary’s attempts to find a way to restore his powers to give him something,  _anything_ from his old life that would give him stability– all of it out the window as soon as she began talking because he thought she would understand. When she didn’t, he tried to explain, but was so upset that he feared he had pushed her away, as he had before. It appeared that he was right.

“Pietro…” Her voice was softer than he had expected, but cold–so unlike her. “I– I’m sorry. But I can’t…. I can’t continue kno– like this. I… I want a divorce.”

Pietro’s heart sank. “What?”

“I want a divorce, Pietro,” she sighed, pushing her strawberry blonde hair away from her face. “You’re never here anyway, we may as well be strangers. And this…. Pietro, I don’t think I can cope with this–”

“ _You_ can’t cope,” Pietro scoffed, blinking back tears and smiling in disbelief.

“And what would we tell Luna,” the Inhuman princess continued, “she’s six now Pietro– she hasn’t seen you in at least as long as _I_ have, and now her father is responsible for helping cause M-Day and has spent over a year being tortured and raped because of that and is trying to work through it with a bunch of animals and a madman?! How do I explain that to her??”

Pietro set his jaw. “They are not animals, Crystal–Bova helped  _raise_ Luna–”

“Not by  _my_ choice.”

“And their creator is… Eccentric, yes, but wise. Knowledgeable, but  _not_ mad… And as far as what’s happened to me,” he sighed, “I–I’m not sure… But we can _think_  of something, Crystal, we–”

“I’ve made up my mind, Pietro,” she dismissed. “I’ve already put the request in with the council, they said that as long as King Blackbolt approves, there will be no contest.”

“So… So that’s it,” he breathed, shaking, “you’re just… Finished? And I can’t even come up there to defend myself?”

Crystal huffed and shook her head. “Pietro, please, don’t make this difficult. You’re… You’re damaged, Pietro, in a way that I can’t help. I don’t think I can continue being married to you knowing what I know. I just— And Luna, Pietro, Luna doesn’t need this.” She sighed, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Pietro, but it’s over. If you can… If you can find a way to work past this, then that’s great, and maybe I’ll see about visitation rights, but…. Not before then. Not right now… Goodbye, Pietro.”

Pietro continued staring at the screen long after it went black, too overwhelmed to feel anything properly. He heard Bova come in, recognized her walk. It wasn’t until she put her hand on his shoulder that he finally broke down in tears.

“She’s  _left_ me,” he sobbed into her shoulder, clutching for dear life at her shawl. “She’s left and she’s taking my baby girl from me! She won’t let me see her! She doesn’t want me..” He shuddered as Bova rubbed circles into his back, reassuring him as best she could through her own anger towards his wife–his ex-wife. He tried listening to her words of comfort, but all he could hear was Crystal’s voice, accusing him.

‘You’re damaged, Pietro…. You’re damaged…’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone who knows me knows I'm not a fan of Crystal, but I swear I tried to make her seem as sympathetic as possible, given the situation.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the unexpected happens

Pietro felt feverish. A month after his divorce from Crystal, two and a half since coming back home to Transia. He had felt something coming on for nearly a week now. After all he’d been through, he’s surprised he hadn’t gotten sick sooner. He was too cold and too hot all at once and he had a migraine that  _refused_ to go away. Currently, he was lying under a large comforter, sweating and with no appetite for the soup Bova had left him. As a matter of fact…

“Oh not this again,” he grumbled, getting up and stumbling to the restroom. “Why this? Why is it always this?”

He had to stabilize himself against the wall, head swimming from the lights and the air; he couldn’t walk in a straight line otherwise. He knelt down in front of the toilet, rocking back and forth trying to will himself to relax. He hated throwing up.

He didn’t have much to lose; some crackers from earlier that day, some water… He lost it all the same. He groaned, picking himself up off the floor and swishing some mouth wash around to get the taste out of his mouth. He dragged his feet slightly so he wouldn’t trip on the door sill. He closed his eyes to prepare him for the florescent lights of the hallway. When he stepped out, he opened them slightly. It was then that he noticed his headache was gone.

He sighed in relief as he made his way back to the bedroom, still feeling tired, but not as achy. When he went to pull the cover back over himself, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

———————————————————————–

Bova had been reading a lot lately. Ever since Pietro had come to them, she had taken it upon herself to learn how to help people through traumatic experiences. Books were her most available source of information. The one she was reading now, though, was a little more for her own enjoyment. Pietro was supposed to be sleeping, resting while his body fought off whatever illness he’d acquired. She was so proud of the progress he’d made, especially after his wife decided to end their marriage. He was still having nightmares sometimes, but he didn’t flinch at physical contact anymore. She still worried, though, because sometimes, he would stare into the distance for several minutes, not seeing anything, not saying anything. She frowned. ‘Poor thing,’ she thought, 'he’s been through so much… And he’s come so far… I hope he’ll be able to pull all the way through…’

Her head whipped around at the sound of her bedroom door swinging open violently. She jumped at the noise–it sounded like a canon! She searched the doorway, but no one was there. When she turned to set her book down, she saw her foster son looking at her face with bewilderment. 'Wait, how did he get in here so fast?’

“Bovaidon'tknowhowit'shappenedbutmypowersareback! Iwasjustgettingreadytoliebackdownandtheblanketsweremovinginslowmotionhowdidthishappenisthisthereasonivebeensickis–”

Bova placed her hands on the man’s shoulders, trying to still his shaking. “Slow down a bit,” she asked, “I can’t understand a word you’re saying. How are you doing this? Have your powers returned?”

Pietro shook his head in disbelief. “I–i don’t know… Bova, I was just going to lie back down and the blankets we’re moving in slow motion!” He breathed heavily, tears running down his face. He was overwhelmed with… Fear? Relief? Joy? He couldn’t tell.

“I don’t understand how this would have happened. None of the Creator’s research has been conclusive… But I  _am_ happy for you, child! You have another piece of yourself back!” She embraced him tightly, letting him nuzzle against her. With as tightly as he was holding on to her, he must have been happy as well–a large step in the right direction. Bova smiled.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pietro gets a new job

Pietro looked reluctantly at his suitcase. He was hesitant to leave Wundagore mountain, especially after everything they had done for him, but the High Evolutionary had informed him of Lorna’s whereabouts. Apparently, she had gotten into some trouble after M-Day and had spent some time in jail. She had been released and was working for a multi-billion dollar industry called “Serval”, which was ran by a man who was very knowledgeable, but no one seemed to know anything about. He was hesitant at the Evolutionary’s offer to put him into contact with this man–Harrison Snow–but he was worried about his sister. She had apparently been de-powered along with the rest of the millions of mutants on that day, but, like him, had recovered them somehow. He needed to see her–to apologize, and to make sure she was in safe situation with this company.

He zipped his luggage shut, tossing it over one shoulder and walking into the corridor, down the stairs, into the reception room off the landing strip. He would be escorted out by Lady Ursula, the Knight’s best pilot. He found her waiting there, along with the rest of the Knights and Bova. He sat the bag down and hugged his foster mother tightly, trying not to let his emotions get the best of him. He let out a small gasp when he found himself surrounded by the other Knights, each of them pressing in as close as possible in a group hug that felt… well, a bit like family.

“Goodbye, friends. I cannot thank you enough for all you’ve done for me,” he assured them after they had released him.

Bova stood, teary-eyed as her friends–her family told him he “was quite welcome,” to “come back at any time”, that they would be thinking of him often. She approached him, putting her hands on either side of his face. “Be safe, child,” she pleaded, “and please… Let me know how you’re doing from time to time.”

Pietro pressed one of the hands closer, squishing it into his cheek, feeling the warmth against his face. He wiped away her tears with the other. “I will be, Bova. I promise. I’ll call you whenever I can. Please don’t cry…” He hated seeing her cry.

She forced a smile on her face, though it was a sad sort of smile. She let go of him, letting him get his luggage and head out to the jet that the Creator insisted they take– to ensure that Pietro got to West Virginia safely. She watched him board, she watched the jet take off. She kept watching until she couldn’t see the aircraft anymore. ‘Please,’ she begged, 'please let him pull through out there.’

————————————————————————

Pietro raced around the building, appreciating the wind on his face, though the air was much different than in Wundagore. After he had gotten a good scope-out of the place, he ran in, taking the stairs to save time. He texted the new number in his phone–the contact himself being in the next room. He was thankful that the High Evolutionary had managed to acquire one for him, it gave him a chance to keep in contact with the Knights and Bova while he was away. He heard a muffled voice through the door. It slid open, making the whole process look like an episode of Star Trek. Contrary to popular opinion, the speedster _did_ enjoy the old 1960’s television show–he appreciated the campiness of it in comparison to television now.

“Come in,” said the dark-haired man–Snow, presumably–“we were just talking about you.”

“Well, now I’m just nervous,” the speedster half-joked. He recognized his sister’s signature green hair before she even turned to face him. The other person–wasn't Lorna supposed to be the only member of this team so far?–had dark reddish-brown hair. 'Gambit,’ he wondered, 'what is _he_ doing here?’

“Long time no see, Pietro,” Lorna stated coldly. “You get ran out of the Avengers?”

Pietro flinched at her tone, but readjusted himself so quickly, he doubted she had time to read it. “I haven’t spoken to the Avengers in some time, actually.”

“Dey kick you out for M-Day,” the Cajun drawled, pretending to examine his nails instead of looking at him.

“What happened with M-Day was… Complicated,” he explained, “and a lot of time and a lot of stuff has happened since, but no. They didn’t kick me out for that. They didn’t kick me out at all actually.”

“But dey didn’ try an’ find you afterwords either… Did dey,” the man added venomously.

“Come on now,” Snow interjected. “Pietro got into contact with  _me_ because he was worried about you, Lorna. He wanted to join the team to make sure you stay safe; that was rather sweet of him, I thought.”

“Pietro is a lot of things, Mr. Snow,” she started, “but 'rather sweet’ isn’t one of them.”

Pietro looked at her, then away toward the door. He sighed, not bothering to hide his hurt–he should have known better, after all, she probably hated him, and she was right to. “If you really want me to leave, Lorna, I will. This is your team, it’s your decision. And I can understand why you wouldn’t want me here.”

He walked back toward the door he came in through, his hand on the lever next to it to open it.

“Wait,” he heard his sister call. “Pietro, if you really want to stay, then…. Go ahead. There’s a lot we need to talk about anyway and at least it’ll be easier to find you if you’re already here.”

Pietro couldn’t help the relieved smile from crossing his face. “Thank you, Lorna. We have a lot to catch up on.”

“Dis a bad idea, cher,” he heard the Louisianan mutant sing under his breath. He wasn’t sure how well he’d be able to get on with Gambit, but he was willing to risk it if it meant being able to make up with at least one of his sisters.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pietro and Lorna have coffee and a chat

Pietro had rushed off to find coffee for the two of them, leaving Lorna alone on a park bench waiting for him. It was fine, it gave her time to formulate a plan. She had a lot to ask him, but due to the latest turn of events–the team going to the Stolen Island to rescue Danger–she hadn’t had a chance to ask anything. She was trying to be understanding; she  _knew_ why he had convinced Wanda to reshape the world, but why did she get rid of the mutants? What had he been doing all this time? Why was he here, now, instead of with the Avengers? She felt a gust of wind and looked up. There was Pietro, holding out a dirty chai for her and holding his own–some sugary drink, no doubt.

“What’d you get,” she asked nonchalantly. She tried taking a sip of hers, but accidentally burnt her tongue. ‘Needs more time.’

“Cafe mocha with a couple extra espresso shots and caramel and raspberry,” he said. He held it in his hands, enjoying the warmth. It was March now… Nearly five months since his rescue…

“Something wrong?”

“Hmm,” he turned his head toward his sister. She had that look on her face–the one that looked mean and judgmental but was really just her being concerned.

“You’re staring at your cup like it’s not coming home from war,” she explained, looking him over and trying to read him. It was always so hard trying to figure out what he was thinking.

“Oh,” he smiled briefly, “sorry, I hadn’t noticed…”

“Pietro, where have you been for so long,” she finally asked. “You haven’t been seen or heard from since M-Day and suddenly you show up _here_  and you… I don’t know, you look like there’s nothing in there sometimes,” she gestured to her head. “Where  _were_ you?”

Pietro swallowed thickly; he had been avoiding this, as much as he had wanted to let Lorna know that he would have been there for her had he been able. He looked down at his coffee cup again.

“Lorna…” he began, “after M-Day… I lost my powers. I lost my family. I lost my friends… I fell into a depression and couldn’t cope. I drank myself into a stupor for over a week… I wound up in Mutant Town…. There was a… A man there…he-he *did* things to me, Lorna… And he had me convinced that I deserved it… And maybe I do, but…. Anyway, by the time the old X-Factor found me, I had–”

“Wait a second, Pietro,” she interrupted, shaking her head. “X-Factor found you in Mutant Town? Who was the guy? What do you mean he 'did things’? Where was Wanda–”

“That’s what Madrox wanted to know,” he explained, taking a sip of his drink. “I didn’t know where she was; I... I still don’t. She vanished…”

“And the guy?”

Pietro bit his lip nervously. He didn’t want to share this with her; she would probably be disgusted, or worse. “I couldn’t tell you his full name… He always made me call him… Something else… But I think his given name was Stan. He… He beat me… Told me I deserved it for what happened to the mutants… He even brought in other people who paid him to get to me…” He looked briefly at his sibling, looking for a readable expression.

Lorna furrowed her brows and glared at her tea. “Pietro, that’s…. You didn’t deserve that… I’m sorry I asked, I didn’t mean to bring up something like that…”

Pietro flashed a brief smile. “You didn’t know…”

“No, but you didn’t  _have_ to tell me,” she stated, frowning slightly as she saw the hurt look on the man’s face. “I know we’ve never been as close….. As close as you and Wanda were. But, I’m glad you trust me enough to tell me… Thank you.”

Pietro looked over at her, tears welling up involuntary in his eyes. His mouth waivered as she touched his shoulder. He put his hand over hers.

They sat in silence, Lorna scooting over to touch shoulders with him, him folding his hand into hers.


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the team finds out about Pietro's past

These past few months at Serval had been hectic, but not overwhelming. Pietro had gotten far closer to Lorna than he ever thought he would have. He found he was able to talk to Doug not only in his native tongue, but also in his normal speed, which earned the teen a bit of a soft spot in his heart. His technarch friend was a bit much to deal with at times–far too handsy–but he was lively and he made Georgia laugh. He felt terribly for the poor child, having lost all of her family in such a short amount of time. Truth be told, it had triggered a relapse of nightmares about his own parents. When he couldn’t sleep, he would often head into the common rooms for a cup of coffee; he figured out a while ago that, contrary to what he had thought before, the caffeine actually calmed him down. Sometimes Remy would be up, playing with his cats or watching a movie. He still didn’t quite know what to think of the Cajun. He would sit on the couch while Remy sat on the floor and they would talk about books and things, but he got the feeling like he was still unwanted from the man–not that it bothered him. Overall, though, he was happy; his nightmares were becoming fewer, he didn’t mind physical contact as much, and he was even making some new friends.

He should have known it wouldn’t last.

————————————————————————

The team gathered around the table in the meeting room, each taking a seat in front of Snow. Once the last member had taken a spot, he began.

“I’ve called you in here today because one of our own is in trouble. I was contacted about a potential threat to a member of this team which, if carried out, could damage this company as well. Pietro, if you would?”

Pietro had a vice grip on his knees. He swallowed and began, as calmly and clearly as he could, trying to keep from panicking or crying.

“After M-Day, I wound up in Mutant Town and fell into the control of a man that I only know as Stan. This man found me, drunk, in an alley. He had apparently retained his memory of Wanda’s recreated world enough to recognize me. He took me to his apartment and kept me there for several months. During my time with him, he beat me, he–he raped me…. He let other men do the same, if they paid him enough… I was starved, mentally abused, and gaslighted into thinking that it was my _duty_ … To mutantkind. For what my sister and I did…”

He took a brief glance around the table–Doug and Warlock were horrified, Lorna looked shocked, understandable as he hadn’t told her about the sexual abuse, the only ones with no discernible expressions were Danger… And Remy. He looked back down at his hands and continued. “Last Tuesday, I received a call from an unknown number. He told me that he wanted to see me again… And that if I refused to meet him, he would release photographs and videos that would absolutely *ruin* me and anyone I’ve ever been affiliated with.”

“How d'you know it was him,” Remy asked, still maintaining his poker face, “it could'a been some creep who got your number by hackin de Avengers staff files.”

“No,” Pietro gulped, “the voice was the same. And he referred…. Referred to himself as-as Master.”

“And what _dat_  gotta do wit anythin?”

Pietro closed his eyes. “That… Was what he made me call him… When he…”

“Does this creep even  _have_ all this blackmail material he claims to have,” Lorna asked, saving Pietro from having to finish the sentence.

Pietro nodded. “He would film some of the…. ‘appointments’ he would call them… And then take photos after…” He gasped for air. He felt lightheaded and tight in the chest. His hands were numb.

“He is having a panic attack,” Danger informed. “It would be advisable to remove excess stimuli from the room.”

Warlock blocked the light from the windows while Doug flipped the internal lights off. Lorna knelt down in front of his chair, taking his hands into hers.

“Listen to me, Pietro,” she said lowly, “focus on me, on  _my_ voice. We’re gonna get this bastard, I promise. But please, I need you to focus on me and breathe..”

Snow took Danger and Gambit off to the side. “We need to come up with a plan for this. First, we need to establish that he  _has_ evidence against Pietro and  _where_ he’s keeping it. Once we have that, we need to destroy it. If we can get him into custody without causing damage, we should. But I don’t think it would be a good idea to go in there and start trouble when innocent people could get hurt. So we do it discreetly. Once Lorna gets him settled down, we’ll come up with the concrete plan.”

Remy nodded silently and looked over the man’s shoulder. He had no idea….


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the gang goes after Pietro's abuser.

Pietro breathed heavily as he stood at the door. He hated this. But he understood why Snow wanted him to do this; he was the only believable distraction for this mission. The others were in position already. All he had to do was knock. Just knock. Knock, and breathe. He rapped against the door three times.

He saw the man, shorter than what he had remembered, open the door, looking him over like he could literally  _eat_  him. It made Pietro nervous.

“Well, well. Welcome back, cunt. I was beginning to think you wouldn’t show.” He drawled, grabbing Pietro’s wrist and leading him in.

The speedster mutant stumbled behind him, becoming more and more afraid with every passing microsecond. He could vaguely hear the man talking, degrading him for ever thinking he could truly escape from him–that he would make him pay, and keep paying, for what he did to the mutants. None of it really registered until he was already in the bedroom and heard the door lock latch clicking. He shivered.

“Strip, you pathetic whore.” The man crossed over when Pietro didn’t immediately comply, punching the back of his head. Even if it didn’t hurt nearly as bad as before, the speedster was too afraid not to. He took off his clothes and left them in a pile at the corner of the bed.

————————————————————————

Remy was getting impatient. He had his rig set up thirteen minutes ago-what was taking Doug so damn long? They were all connected on the same frequency; the only one who couldn’t hear everyone else was Pietro, but they could all hear what was going on around him. Over the comm, he heard Pietro knock on the door.

“Cypher,” came Lorna’s voice, “he’s in the building already.”

“I know that, Lorna,” came a soft reply, “Remy, get in there and find his computer. Insert that flash drive I gave you and follow my instructions.”

Remy set his jaw and went to work. He had scoped this place out, except the inside, when they first got the assignment. He knew parts of the building were falling apart–he carried his small rig and went through the door leading in from the roof. He traveled as fast as he could without making any noise. He could hear this asshat mocking Serval’s resident speedster–telling him how pathetic it was that he really thought he had repaid mutantkind for his crimes. The Louisianan had to consciously check that he wasn’t grinding his teeth.

He got to the floor the man apparently occupied by himself. He heard him give Pietro the command to strip, followed by a loud thud. He must have hit him up where his comm link was located. There were so many rooms–a lot of them locked–it could take several minutes for Remy to actually find and get in the one where this monster was keeping his evidence.

‘And who know how long dat freak gonna draw dis out,’ he found himself thinking, checking all of the unlocked doors first. He felt his heart pounding. He had felt bad for Pietro when he had confessed to what had happened. It reminded him of Laura; neither of them deserved to have something like that happen. Remy thought that, and he was ready to kill him  _and_ the Scarlet Witch after M-Day. He heard the bed creak over the comm.

The last unlocked door he checked was the one with the computer in it. 'Go figure,’ he thought angrily, crossing the whole room in just a few strides. He inserted the flash drive like Doug had asked and the computer came alive. He followed all of his instructions, giving the teen manual access to the device. While Cypher searched the PC, Gambit went to start checking for hard copies of the photos and videos.

He worked as quickly as he could possibly make himself go, wishing he had just a little of Pietro’s super speed. Over the comm, and even outside of it, he could hear blows being landed. He could hear Pietro whimpering and sniffling. He was getting angrier by the second.

He went through three different locked doors before he found the photos. He checked them to ensure they we’re the ones they needed before putting them in one of the pockets in his coat. He could feel his blood boiling just from what he saw. He heard Doug and Lorna over the comm. Apparently, he had backups saved of everything. Doug had already deleted them; he and Lorna were just as disgusted by this man as Remy was. Lorna was crying, asking how  _anyone_ could be that cruel–her brother wasn’t the best person in the world, but he didn’t deserve that. Remy was inclined to agree.

As he continued searching the room for more hard evidence, he could hear Pietro’s former captor humiliating him, telling him what a pathetic whore he was. He heard Pietro scream, followed by crying and that  _monster_ asking him if it hurt, calling him a tight little bitch. 'Oh God,’ the Cajun thought, swallowing thickly, 'he’s  _raping_ him…’

Remy shuffled through the pictures, trying to make sure he didn’t leave any behind. Next were the videos. None of them were labeled, so Remy shoved them all in a bag and placed them by his rig so he could grab them easily when the time came. He checked the door where all of the sounds–flesh hitting flesh, grunting, crying, creaking metal–were coming from. Locked. Remy brought out his lockpick, working the latch until it popped. He grabbed his staff.

————————————————————————

Pietro could feel every one of the man’s thrusts drawing blood–he hadn’t used nearly enough lube and hadn’t really prepared him before he had his way with him. The tears wouldn’t stop falling. All of these months trying to recover from this, and here he was again. Oh God, he was never going to be allowed to forget this…

He saw Remy burst through the door, staff in hand. He saw him yelling at his master, but he couldn’t hear what was being said. He saw the staff go straight through his master’s collarbone, shattering it. He saw his fist land on his master’s face, breaking his nose. His master lay on the floor, Remy knocked him unconscious. He barely felt Remy cutting off the zip ties keeping him strapped to the bed.

“We got everyt'ing,” the man said, dressing him quickly, “we can go. You ain’t never gonna see dis bastard again, I promise, Petit.” Pietro felt numb. He felt Remy lead him quickly through the door, down the hall, and out of the building.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the team takes care of Pietro after their mission

Warlock rinsed the shampoo from Pietro’s hair. He had been so quiet since he came back from their mission, although he didn’t blame him; Doug had told him what had happened–the pictures they had found, the state Gambit had rescued him in… The technarch felt bad for him. “Self is sorry, selffriend Pietro. Self is trying to be gentle. You were very brave, risking your safety again,” he comforted. He frowned slightly when he didn’t receive a response. “Self wishes self could help more.”

He washed him as gently as he could. Some of the bruises were already fading, but there was blood in the bath water and the mutant was alternating between being quietly vacant and crying softly. He rinsed the man off and grabbed a towel, warming it in his core chamber before wrapping the thin speedster in it. Warlock wanted to just lead him to his room, but Pietro looked like he was on the verge of collapsing at any moment. Metal expanded and sockets shifted and allowed the not-quite-mutant to pick him up and carry him down the hallway.

When he entered the door, he was greeted by Danger, who relieved him and went to the dresser as he sat the man down on his bed. He shot her a worried glance. He was relieved at the radio signal she sent to him telling him she would be monitoring his vital signs until further notice. He left, closing the door gently behind him. Danger took the pair of cotton pajama pants she had grabbed from the dresser and crossed slowly to where the white-haired mutant sat, not moving, and still only covered by his towel.

Danger pulled the pants onto the man; he was trembling. His core temperature had dropped. His hair was still wet. She took the towel and gently dried his hair most of the way with it, as she had seen members of the X-Men do when she still lived with them. He was still trembling. She sat down beside him on the bed, pulling the duvet over his shoulders, bundling him in it. She kept one arm around him stiffly.

“Quicksilver,” she began, lowly, as she could sense his cortisol levels would not be improved with a conversation at normal volume, “I do not know how to assist you in your recovery. I am aware of every theory and practice available through technology; I can give you step-by-step instructions on  _how_ to recover… But I am not suited for assisting you in a way that would have any psychological or emotional impact; I am not equipped to handle the variable that is human emotion. I apologize. I will do what I can to educate the others in the theories I’ve read, and I will be monitoring you until it is no longer needed. If you can, you should get some rest.”

Pietro watched as the mechanical woman exited his room. He couldn’t feel anything. He didn’t  _want_ to feel anything. He wanted to end his pathetic existence and be rid of the memories of that man and what he had done to him forever. As the tears rolled down his face, he remembered he  _couldn't_  Danger was monitoring his vitals and would be in and saving him before he could die. He dug his nails as far into his arms as they would go. Feeling them cut into his flesh was preferable to not doing anything and not  _feeling_ anything. Stuttering out a sigh, he laid down on the bed, too exhausted to even attempt pacing the room. He felt the wetness travelling across his nose and hitting the pillow. He didn’t want to be alive, but at least he didn’t have to be _awake_. He closed his eyes and waited for sleep to take him.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the gang helps Pietro recover in increments. Georgia is a sweetheart and Remy learns to not make such swift judgments.

Georgia stood outside of the room, the plate in her hand warm enough to sting just a little. The others wouldn’t tell her exactly what was wrong with the man behind the door, only that he had been hurt very badly by the man they had just caught. She hated to guess all the things that “hurt” meant. She took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

————————————————————————

Pietro heard the knock, but didn’t get up. Two days and he still felt like he could barely breathe. The room flooded with light and he saw the dark-haired girl make her way to his bedside. The smell of the food she was carrying was simultaneously delicious and nauseating. It probably didn’t help that he hadn’t eaten anything since his return.

“Hey,” the child said softly, “I brought you some food. Danger says you haven’t ate anything in a while and…. Well, I like to cook, so I thought maybe…”

“Thank you, Georgia,” the man said, his voice raspy from all the crying he’d been doing and the lack of speaking. “Just leave it here, I’ll get to it eventually.”

Georgia felt like she could cry. When she met this man, he was so full of energy and life–he was one of the ones who had taken her from her foster dad, not that she was complaining anymore, and had fought for her and her mom when her  _real_ dad turned out to be a madman. Now… Now, she could barely recognize him. She sat down in the edge of the bed.

Pietro felt her weight shift the bed slightly. He flinched when she put her hand on the blanket over his arm. She took her hand off. He sighed softly; he didn’t want to scare the child–she had been through so much already, and partially because of him. He helped rip her away from her family, even if her adopted father  _was_ a mutant-hating asshole. And she was a mutant. He felt sorry for her; he could remember all too clearly what having a father who hated you felt like. And what not having any family left felt like.

“I have a daughter,” the frail-looking speedster stated, almost so quiet she couldn’t hear him, “she’s a bit like you. Very willful. Strong sense of Justice. Horrible father. Or absentee father. Both.”

“Hey,” the girl chided softly, “that’s not fair on you. I’ve only been around you for a couple of weeks, but I know you’re a good dad. I mean, you’re great with me; you were the one who talked Lorna into bringing me to see my mom. Even if it did turn out bad…. But you protected me, and you protected her. No one that nice and considerate to others can be a bad dad.”

“You clearly don’t know my track record.” The older mutant turned over in the bed, facing away from her. And she didn’t. She didn’t know what a horrible father he’d been. Or what he  _would_ have been, if he had actually been around. It made him sick to think what his father, Django, would have thought of him if he knew how little he was around. He started to cry again.

Georgia heard him whimpering. She felt awful for him, and awkward because she didn’t know  _how_ to help him. She looked at the nightstand where she had left the food. He didn’t have any water or anything… She decided to go grab some.

“I’ll be right back,” she assured, shutting the door gently. She turned and gasped, not expecting to see Remy and Snow outside the door. “Uh… Hi?”

“How is he,” Snow asked. He felt horrible–he hadn’t expected the mission to go that far south that quickly and, now, one of his team was hurt. He owed him an apology–owed him more than that, really, with what he’d been through.

“Not great,” the girl said, looking at the door and frowning. “Danger says he hasn’t eaten anything since he came back. He also hasn’t drank much, I don’t think. It seems like most of what he’s been doing is sleeping and crying.” She felt tears coming on, herself. She felt Remy hold her by the shoulders, kneeling down in front of her.

“Listen, chère, you doin’ real good. He need us ta be der for ‘im right now,” he drawled, “and you doin’ de best you can. I’m proud of ya.”

Georgia wiped the tears from her eyes, nodding. She told them she was going to the kitchen to get him a glass of water, then left the room. When she came back, Remy asked if he could take it in to him. She handed him the glass and wished him good luck.

————————————————————————

“She real worried 'bout you, you know dat,” the Cajun asked, setting the glass down on the nightstand next to the untouched plate.

Pietro kept silent. He didn’t want this man in here–especially not after he had seen and heard him being assaulted. He groaned internally as he felt the bed shift.

“Chèrie, I’m… I’m sorry. No one knew t'ings were gonna get dat bad. If we had, we’d’ve tried somet'in else.” He really was worried about this poor man–he had been through so much. It wouldn’t have surprised him if he didn’t want to talk to or look at anyone right now. After all, everyone on the team, save Georgia, had witnessed what that  _bastard_  had done to him. He sighed, looking over at the white hair that was sticking out from the duvet. He didn’t want to leave–he didn’t want the man to feel like he was alone. But he also wanted to respect the man’s boundaries and give him his space if he really wanted it. He started to stand up.

“I’m sorry,” Pietro whispered, causing Remy to turn his head toward him. “I’m sorry I dragged you all into this…”

Remy sat back down, turning as much of his body towards the man as he could. “What are you talkin’ about, homme?”

“I… I thought I had left that all behind. I really thought I was _free_ ,” the man sobbed softly. “I should have known better. I’ll never outlive my sins…”

Remy put a hand on the other’s shaking shoulder as gently as he could manage. “Now you listen here, Petite, you didn’t deserve what dat man did to you. I don’ care if you went out and  _killed_ all those people wit your bare hands. He was a monster wearin’ a man’s skin. I… I talked to Lorna. About M-Day. She told me what happened wit Magneto and Wanda. You can’t… You can’t blame yourself for dat.” He knew he likely still _would_ , even with Remy’s words of encouragement. He wished he knew what to say.

“You don’t think that,” came the reply. Remy flinched at the brokenness of the voice. “You blamed me for it. You were right to. If I hadn’t deserved that man’s treatment, it wouldn’t have happened. I deserved it–I  _still_ deserve it.”

Remy flipped the man to face him–he didn’t like the thoughts of man-handling him, but he wanted to be sure that the white-haired mutant saw his face when he told him this. He slowly touched the side of his face, smoothing over tear tracks with the pads of his fingers. “I was wrong,” he admitted, “I was wrong to blame you for M-Day. You didn’t  _make_  your sister depower all dose mutants. You didn’t deserve to get punished for it. I shouldn’t 'a’ said all dose t'ings wit'out knowin de full story… I’m sorry.”

Pietro felt the skin on his cheeks tingle under the touch of the other mutant–likely a by-product of his mutation. He felt his stiffened muscles unfurl by increments as the man apologized to him–a kindness he didn’t believe he deserved. After the other had finished, he got up and left the room. Pietro noticed how sad he looked. He sat up for the first time in days. He felt spaced-out and confused, but not as numb and degraded as he  _had_ been. He looked at the plate of food sitting next to his bed.

Georgia cooked that for him. He felt tears roll down his cheeks at the thought. Remy had told him he was sorry for blaming him for the Decimation. Warlock had bathed him and called him brave. Danger was teaching the others how to help him cope with stress, much like Bova had educated herself.

Pietro sobbed openly. Bova would be devastated if he gave up on his life now. Lorna would hate herself for not helping more. He would never see Luna grow up. He _had_  to get better again. He had to.

He took the plate and the fork sitting on the edge of it and began eating.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pietro finally comes out of his room and he and Remy are two dudes being bros.

Pietro stepped out of the room–still in his pajamas from the first day, but it was a start. They had a press conference later that day and it would be bad publicity if he didn’t show up, he knew that. He wasn’t looking forward to having to talk to Snow beforehand, though. He had avoided as much as thinking his  _name_ since the mission in Mutant Town. He was really trying not to blame him for what had happened; he knew their plan wouldn’t work if he wasn’t the bait for distracting his former “master”, but making him relive that hell…

He sighed and shuffled to the bathroom down the hall, carrying a towel and a change of clothes. He knocked on the door and, after he was sure no one was in the room, he entered. He began undressing, but stopped. He could see thin white lines and burn scars from his time with that monster–the ones made from the first months of torture. It brought back the new memories made just last week–memories of guilt, blood, bruises, and hate. He felt sick, bile rising in his throat. He screwed his eyes shut.

He rushed over to the toilet, accidentally hitting the light switch on the way. After he finished puking, he opened his eyes again. He couldn’t see anything. He felt his way over to the sink and tried looking in the mirror. Nothing. At least, nothing besides some vague outlines made by the light coming in from the door sill. He bit his lip–could he take a shower like this, so he didn’t have to see all those scars? He decided to risk it. He stripped the rest of the way and carefully made it over to the bathtub, running the water until it was good and warm, then switching the nozzle to the shower on.

He felt the warm water washing away all of the dirt from the past few days–he hadn’t had the energy to take a bath since Warlock had bathed him five days ago. He sighed contentedly, glad he didn’t have to see himself. Even after willing himself to eat and to try confirming to himself that he hadn’t deserved to be subjected to that man’s perverted fantasies, he was still emaciated and felt disgusting–used, dirty, _unclean_. He had to shampoo his hair twice to get all the oil out of it, humming slightly as the water hit against his scalp and the soap travelled down his skin. He washed his body quickly; he didn’t want to take the time and risk feeling all of those raised lines and patches. ‘My god,’ he thought, 'I need to shave… ’ He swore at himself and at the situation. Maybe Warlock could help him…

He stepped out of the shower and toweled himself off, quickly pulling on his clothes. He walked quickly to the commons room, tossing his dirty pajamas into the hamper on the way. The technarch was nowhere in sight. Lorna and Remy stood up, visibly relieved to see him. “Hey, Pietro,” Lorna started. “What’s up? How are you feeling?”

Pietro tried smiling. It almost worked. “Better than I have been,” he stated simply. “Still not good, but getting better. I… I need to shave, but… Do we know where Warlock is?”

“He gone to help Doug wit’ some codin’ in de server room,” Remy drawled. “Why? What you need?”

Pietro blushed, looking down at the floor. He didn’t want to have to ask the Cajun to do this, but he didn’t want to see Snow or go to this press conference with half a beard growing on his face, either. “I um… I need to shave,” he swallowed, “but looking in a mirror…. I would rather  _die_ right now–”

Remy crossed over to him as quickly as he could. “Yeah, no problem, Chèrie,” he assured, walking toward the bathroom ahead of him. “We get you spiffed up in no time!”

————————————————————————

Remy worked up the shave cream into a lather as he watched the speedster take off his dress shirt and hang it up on the door. The Cajun motioned for him to sit in front of him on the sink. He was worried about how quiet he was being– the past few months, when he had first joined the team, he had joked around and snarked at Remy every chance he could. Remy didn’t mind, he thought it was actually kind of funny; the man was smarter than he would have given him credit for. He knew he probably didn’t feel like talking much after that mission, so he decided not to push him.

He brushed the shave cream onto the man’s angular face. Being this close and without worrying about trying to be cold toward him–or wanting to, for that matter–he took the time to notice the white-haired mutant’s features as he carefully manuvered the razor across his skin. He had his father’s nose, that’s for sure, and his brow line. His eyes were softer, though, and deeper-set in his skull. There were dark circles under them that brought out the almost periwinkle tint in his irises. He had higher cheekbones, too–emphasized for the lack of food he’d been eating lately. His lips were thin, like Erik’s, but the upper one was more defined than his father’s. His overall face shape was narrower than the master of magnetism and it made him look effeminate. 'Beautiful,’ Remy thought absently before completely shaking the thought from his head.

He looked up at the man’s flushed cheeks; he was probably embarrassed at having to have someone else do this simple task  _for_ him, but Remy couldn’t blame him. After all he had been through, from the past week and before, he was amazed that he was still breathing. Danger had warned the whole team about his low serotonin levels and to watch for signs of suicidal thoughts or self-harm. He alternated stealing glances at the man’s sad-looking face and watching carefully as he guided the razor over his neck. They were nearly finished, and Remy felt him stiffen when he gently touched the column of his throat, pushing over to gain better access to his jawline. Pietro reluctantly complied, leaning with his touch, closing his eyes. Remy felt his breath hitch. He blushed slightly, turning to focus on his work until the lather was gone and he handed a warm washcloth to the man on the sink.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pietro talks with Snow and Pietro's abuser gets what's coming to him

“Pietro,” Harrison breathed, setting down the stack of forms into a neat pile on his desk. “I’m glad to see you up and moving about. Have you been eating?”

Pietro waved his hand and sat down in one of the chairs in front of the desk, slowly looking up at the dark-haired man. He watched him rise from his chair and move to the front of the desk to sit on it, crossing his legs. “I’m not doing well, Snow, but I’m still here.” He sighed, looking down at his hands, fidgeting with his fingers. Snow got off the desktop and kneeled down in front of him, just under eye level.

“Pietro,” he started, taking his hands into his own, “I can’t begin to tell you how very sorry I am for making you go back there. I never thought that things would get that bad that quickly. I never intended for you to be hurt– I thought we would have more time to get the evidence.”

Pietro looked into his grey eyes. He saw the guilt in them. “And what’s  _become_ of the evidence,” he asked, “what become of the Mast– that man?”

“All of the photos and videos, including the digital copies, have been destroyed,” he assured, “no one will ever see them, I promise. As far as that monster goes… We have him detained, but I thought maybe… Maybe it would be best if  _you_ decided what becomes of him.”

Pietro furrowed his brows. “What are you talking about?”

“This man is responsible for putting you through a living nightmare, Pietro,” Snow sighed, “He is, effectively,  _your_ personal demon… And knowing what he did to you, I want  _you_ to decide what happens to him. I want to give you that closure.”

Pietro curled in on himself a little. He set his mouth in a line. He had been so preoccupied trying to gain his strength back that he hadn’t thought of what had happened to the man–not that he wanted to think of him. “You mean…  _I_ choose what happens to him?  _I_ choose his… His punishment for what he did to me?”

“Yes,” Snow replied softly. “Whatever you want to have happen to him, that’s what we’ll do.”

“I….. You would  _kill_ him if I asked? You would torture him? Have him whored out and taken and beaten until he couldn’t stand, the way he did with me? You would break every bone in him and carve him with a knife until he bled out slowly like I’ve dreamed of doing? You would let  _me_ do it? You would… You would even _let him go_ if I asked?”

“Anything you want, Pietro, I promise,” Snow stated, setting his eyebrows. There was a hardness in his eyes that made Pietro believe him. It frightened him.

Pietro felt tears falling down his cheeks. He was supposed to be  _better_ than that–he was supposed to be a _hero_. Heroes didn’t decide to kill people, even when they deserved it. Villains killed people. His father killed *him*. He had spent so long trying to be a better man than his father; killing this man would set him so far back… He buried his face in his hands, resigned and feeling helpless.

“Just… Just keep him away from me. Put him in prison; they’ll make his life miserable enough there…” He wiped his eyes, looking out the office window at the city skyline. The sun coming through was blinding. He felt Snow take his hands again, squeezing them gently.

“Of course, Pietro.”

————————————————————————

“Stan Knickerbocker, huh?” The guard looked over the man. The inmates around him hushed, trying to hear what the officer was saying. “Says here you’re in for multiple charges of sexual assault, harassment, physical assault… You like roughin’ up girls, pal? Pickin on people who can’t fight back?”

“That cunt wasn’t a girl,” the man hissed. “I had  _Quicksilver_ under my thumb. That tight little bitch did anything I wanted him to do.”

“Sure, pal. I guess you ain’t seen the news; he’s workin for Serval now. Still got his superspeed and all… Ain’t no one touchin  _him_ if he don’t want. I’m sure he did real well for you.”

The guard called lights out. Stan’s cellmate, a burly man of about 40, immediately slammed him against a wall. “Listen here, you sick fuck,” he growled. “We don’t  _do_ rapers here. We don’t _want_ ‘em here. You like touchin’ people who don’t want touched? We gonna make sure you never touch nothin again, you understand?”

Stan nodded fiercely despite the ringing in his ears and the throbbing in his skull. He was terrified of what was going to happen tomorrow out in the courtyard…


	18. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the "Press conference issue" happens

Pietro breathed deeply as he stepped out onto the stage. He didn’t like doing press conferences even when he was an Avenger. The lights and the attention always made him nervous; he was just thankful that he didn’t have to  _say_ anything during this one. Lorna was introducing the team and giving the press an idea of who they were and what they were about. Pietro took a deep breath and watched as his teammates were called out one by one to join Lorna on the stage, each giving a short display of their powers for the crowd. He heard his name announced.

He rushed all around and through the crowd before ending next to Gambit on the stage, not a full second after they had announced him. He was followed by Danger and Warlock. Lorna began explaining to the crowd what her team was and what they do for Serval Industries; her voice was even and calm–Pietro was proud of her confidence. He took his gaze from his sister to the flashing cameras of reporters. He saw a figure making their way to the front of the group. Something about them looked familiar, but he couldn’t place them–they were wearing a long coat and a hat covering their hair…

“Serval Industries is committed to helping people,” Lorna explained, “X-Factor is here to help them help others in ways that they wouldn’t be able to otherwise–”

“Then why is  _Quicksilver_ on your team,” came a voice. “Because of him, the number of mutants has dwindled to _nil_! He’s the reason they’re all gone!”

Pietro felt himself go cold. The voice had come from the front of the crowd, likely from the hidden figure. They pulled off their hat to reveal strikingly blonde hair. ‘Layla Miller,’ he wondered. No doubt she was still upset that he hadn’t been “properly punished” for that day, even  _knowing_ what he had been through. He swallowed thickly; his face was starting to feel numb. He felt a large hand on his shoulder as Lorna commanded security to escort the mutant girl out if the building.

“Wait,” he shouted, louder than he had intended. “She… She’s right. M-Day–it was  _my_ fault… My sister was going to be killed; our so-called 'friends’ at the Avengers were going to kill her for losing control of her powers… I convinced her to reshape the world, but it was only to keep her _safe_! I never meant for her to take away people’s mutations… But they were going to kill her, and my father and the X-Men weren’t going to help… So I told her to change things–to give everyone what they wanted so they would leave her alone! I–I’m sorry… I only wanted what was best… There are a lot of people who have every right to be angry with me. I’ll be in my room if they want to find me.”

He turned to his team sadly and ran out of the conference room. Lorna and Remy exchanged concerned glances.

“My brother,” Lorna began, “has lived a complicated life… He’s made mistakes, but so has everyone else on this team. He, like the rest of the team, is a good person at heart and is genuinely trying to do right… He’s been given the opportunity to do just that by working here. We at Serval welcome him with open arms, and we encourage you to do the same… Now, are there any questions?”

————————————————————————

Pietro sat in his room on his bed. He had his head in his hands–he couldn’t remember how long he had been in that position. He heard a knock on the door. It opened softly; Linda furrowed her brows. “Mister Maximoff, are you doing alright,” she asked lowly.

“You’re the first person who’s stopped by…” Pietro squinted, the light of the hallway flooding his senses.

“The rest of the team thought you may want some space,” she explained. “You  _do_ have a visitor, though. I’ll let them know to come in.”

Pietro shuddered. Likely, it was Captain America or Tony Stark coming to berate him for speaking ill of the Avengers, or one of the X-Men come to kill him for confessing to M-Day. He looked up when he heard footsteps, softer than he expected. His fear was immediately replaced with shock, then worry. He stood quickly.

“Luna?”

The child ran to him, throwing her arms around his hips, not yet tall enough to reach any further. She buried her face in the bottom of his stomach. “It’s been so long since I heard from you,” she cried, “I was so worried!”

Pietro knelt down and took her face in his hands. “Does… Does your mother know you’re here?”

“Uh-uh,” she shook her head. She looked at him intensely–her eyes were glowing amber… Pietro cocked his head–her eyes had always been _blue_ … They changed back and she began to cry again. Pietro held her close to his chest and stroked her hair.

“Darling, what’s wrong,” he asked softly.

“Mom said you were hurt,” she sobbed, “I didn’t know it was so _bad_ … Daddy, what  _happened_  to you?”

Pietro questioned how his daughter was seemingly able to know how badly his experience over the past year or so had effected him. He didn’t answer, telling his daughter that he would tell her later. He held onto her tightly, burying his nose in her hair and kissing the top of her head while she sobbed into his neck.

For the first time in a long time, he cried tears of _relief_.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pietro and Luna have some breakfast

Pietro lifted the lid on the waffle-maker. It had been a very long time since he’d had the motivation to get up and make breakfast. The child beside him seemed to make that task much easier–more enjoyable. His daughter stretched across the counter beside him, batter mix on her shirt.

“So… You told me you went through Terrigenesis,” the man asked, lifting the waffle with a spatula and placing it on a plate with the others. He quickly sat the plate down on the table and moved around to cut up some fresh fruit and sit out a bit of syrup. “How–how did that happen? I thought the King and Queen were against it.”

The girl made her way to the table to have a seat, watching her father in awe as he zipped around the kitchen of Serval Industries. She pressed her mouth into a line, looking at the glass of juice that had just appeared in front of her. She tucked a section of blonde hair behind her ear.

“Yeah… Aunt Medusa said her and Uncle Blackbolt didn’t want me to go through it–they said it might be dangerous. But a friend and I were playing by the caves and we found some of the crystals. We didn’t know there was vapor in the caves, so we stayed down there for a while… I had a really bad headache, and when I got home, I guess a coccoon formed over me while I slept. Aliana said nothing happened to her, but she had already *had* her Terrigenesis, so I guess it was just me… When I woke up, I could see colors that looked like what people are feeling–I could change those colors, too. Mom and Aunt Medusa and Uncle Karnak said I shouldn’t change them, though, since that’s bad…”

Pietro looked on at his daughter. He had already finished his breakfast while she was talking–it was the most he had eaten in nearly two weeks, but listening to her distracted him long enough to get the meal down. He looked into his cup of tea, saddened by the fact that no one had told him about this development in his daughter’s life…

“Daddy…” the girl started, reaching to touch his hand, “what *happened* to you? Mom said… She said you got hurt by someone. But she won’t tell me who or how. She just said it changed you… Is that why–why you’re so sad all the time now?”

Pietro smiled gently at the girl, taking her hand in his. He didn’t want to tell her about that man–what he had done to him. But this wasn’t the first time she had brought up the subject since she came to Earth two days ago.

“Your mother was telling the truth, sweetheart,” he said lowly. “There was a–a man. He kept me prisoner for… _Months_. He hurt me, and he got a lot of other people to do it, too. He played with my mind until I didn’t realize what was right… And it–it  _did_ change me. I don’t think… I don’t believe that she was equipped to handle that…”

“So she  _left_ you,” the child asked, bewildered.

Pietro smiled sadly and squeezed the girl’s hand. She was only a child–he didn’t expect her to understand why this all had happened. He felt badly, though; it wasn’t her fault that it  _did_ happen, but now she was the one suffering because of it.

Their moment was interrupted by shuffling feet and muttered swears. “Mes oui, you little–I’m  _gettin_ it!” The man lifted his legs up to escape the claws of his tiny furry friends. Pietro blushed–the man wasn’t wearing any more than a thin house robe. Remy froze, not expecting anyone in the kitchen, although he  _thought_ he had smelled pancakes… Or waffles.

“Oh, hey, mon amis,” he drawled, “I wasn’t expectin’ you here… You make all dis?”

“Ah… Yes?” Pietro averted his gaze to the three kittens at the man’s feet. “There’s uh… More batter on the counter… If you want some.”

Remy couldn’t help but  _beam_  at the man–he was making so much progress so quickly. He found himself thanking whatever powers there were that that little girl had showed up. She was a cute little kid, for sure, but she must take more after her mom for looks.

“Nah, homme, I’m good,” he waved, “I’m just tryin ta get these little brats somethin ta eat so they stop chewin my toes… Thank you, though.” He paused, like he wanted to say something else. He shook his head and want to the cupboard where he was storing his cat food, pouring some out into a bowl and snatching a glass of water for himself. He smiled at Luna and shooed the kittens back to his room, luring them in with the bowl of food.

Luna smiled. “He seems nice,” she said, looking over at her dad, “his colors are pretty. Are those kittens always here?”

Pietro cocked his head, still getting used to hearing his daughter talk about people’s colors in regards to their feelings. He was afraid of what she probably saw in him. “He’s… Yeah, I guess you could say that he’s nice… And yes, those cats are his, they stay in his room, usually.”

Luna cocked  _her_ head–a behavior she had picked up from her father years ago. In conjunction with his sadness, she saw a confliction; he didn’t seem to know how he should feel about the man who had just left the room. She didn’t question it and finished her waffles and juice in peace, but made a mental note to ask about playing with the kittens later.


	20. Chapter Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pietro has a bad day and a confession is made.

Luna frowned as she picked up the little orange kitten from the floor of the commons room. Her dad hadn’t come out of his room yet–it was nearly 2:30. She had wanted to go check on him, but there were strange colors emanating from his room. Whatever it was that had happened, whatever had “changed him”, as her mother had said, must be bothering him again. She could hear the others talking about him in hushed tones. Things about how well he had been doing, what had went wrong, how could they help.

“Hey,” came a voice from behind her, “you uh… You okay?”

Luna turned to face the older girl–a mutant, like her dad. And her aunts. And her grandpa. She sighed and nodded, lying.

“You know… You don’t have to say that you  _are_ if… If you _aren't_. It’s okay.” The girl sat down beside her, picking up the white kitten and pulling it into her lap. She brushed some of the stray hairs from her face.

Luna looked at her–peaches and reds mixed with greens and deep blues. A happy girl, with a kind temper and a tendency to anger. She wondered how  _she_ must look right now. Her powers wouldn’t work on herself–she knows for how often she had tried out of curiosity.

“I’m worried about him… His colors are moving _past him_. That’s not good,” she confessed. She felt a hand at her shoulder.

“Have you talked to him today?”

“No… The colors are dark. I’m scared to…” She felt tears prick her eyes. She shouldn’t be scared–not of her father.

Georgia thought for a moment. “Do you want me to come in  _with_ you? I think… I think seeing you would help him. You make him so happy… Happier than I’ve  _ever_ seen him, but I… I haven’t known him that long.”

Luna looked at the girl; she was being sincere. And while she was glad that she made the offer, she didn’t know how her dad would react– he was nothing but blues and dark reds and black. There wasn’t anything that told Luna that he would be open to talking, even to her. She frowned, sighed, and shook her head. She looked down the hall towards her dad’s door and saw Remy going in.  _He_ looked worried. Of course, he often did where her dad was involved. She wondered if they were friends–she could vaguely remember him helping her dad rescue her from Mr. Cortez, along with a pretty lady with white in her hair. She watched intently as the man opened the door, carrying a plate of food in his hands. She hoped maybe he could help.

————-

Not ten minutes later, she could hear muffled arguing. She couldn’t hear the words being said, but she could see her dad’s colors mixed with new ones–probably from Remy.

Black and maroons intersected with bright yellows and electric blue. She held the kitten closer to her. She could remember her mom arguing with her dad like this, even if she never heard their words or saw colors. She heard a shout of “Fine!” before Remy left the room, walking heavily down the hall and into the kitchen. She could see how his colors had changed–the yellows and blues making way to bright reds. He was angry, but it was a fast anger–it would fade within a few hours. She looked back to her dad’s door. The colors were starting to receed. She was genuinely shocked when her father came out. His colors had changed drastically–the blacks and blues were still there, but they were being overrun by bright purple and dark pink. She trailed him as he quickly followed Gambit into the kitchen. She quietly got up and snuck into the doorway.

———————————————————————

“You take it back…”

Remy snapped the spoon down in the counter, spattering gumbo on the surface. “Take it back? You don’t take back somethin’ like dat!”

Pietro felt his lip quivering, tears threatening to fall. “You didn’t mean that, LeBeau, now take it back!”

He turned to face the man, unaware that the man’s daughter was standing in the doorway. “You don’t tell me what I do and don’t mean, Maximoff. But I did mean it, and I ain’t takin’ it back. I… I  _love_ you…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got the next chapter of this in my drafts, there are probably only going to be two or three more chapters of this work before I call it finished.


	21. Part 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Pietro has serious doubts about Remy's sincerity

"You can't mean that. You _can't_."

Pietro's voice starts to drop, weakening as his body shakes and tears begin to roll down his cheeks. He quickly wipes them away, leaving stains across his face. "Not after everything I...."

Remy moves closer to him, tentatively taking his hand. He's surprised when Pietro doesn't remove it.

"'Tro, we've talked 'bout _what you done_. You was tryin' to protect your family... And you got burnt for it jus' de same as others... I don't blame you for dat, and I _can't_ hate you for it."

He slowly, almost fearfully, caresses one of Pietro's cheeks, wiping away the tears with his thumb. He softly squeezes his hand, to reassure him.

Pietro closes his eyes, his mouth pressed in a tight line. How? How can this man be like this?

_How can he choose me? Doesn't he see I'm broken? He's... He's too good for me...._

He shakes his head, moving away a step. "I can't... I'm... Remy, I'm _shattered_... You--you deserve better than the pieces and parts of a broken doll..." He sighs, looking down.

Remy takes him in a loose hug, only squeezing once, to let him know he wants him there. "Chèrie, you are so much more dan dat," he murmurs against his shoulder, "You've been t'rough all dis shit and you still.... You still tryin'. Don't you see how strong you are? How beautiful you are?"

"So that's it.... _Beautiful_." He scoffs, not moving, and not returning Remy's affections. He looks away, at the wall next to the cabinets.

Remy pulls back a little, moving his face to look at him. "No, not dat. I ain't talkin' about dat," he taps his face with a finger gently, "I'm talking 'bout _dis_ ," he taps his chest, just above his heart. "Your heart and your soul... Your spirit and your mind..."

Pietro begins to cry gently again. He shakes his head weakly. "You don't mean that... You don't--"

Remy frowns and holds his breath, taking a chance. He presses a soft, chaste kiss to his lips, just barely enough to cause pressure, but it's enough to get his point across. He _does_ love him. He's meant every word he said. The little girl peeking from beside the fridge can see that.

For Pietro, the kiss, like everything else, lasts so much longer... It sends heat and shock straight from his mouth to his heart. He feels his fingers go numb. His body shakes as his eyes widen, looking at the man who still has him in his arms. He still doesn't want to believe him...

"Daddy...?" A small voice comes from beside him. He looks at his daughter, still unable to move. She has tear tracks down her face, more of them brightening her eyes. "Daddy, he's telling the truth... He's not lying, daddy, I promise... I can see it in his colors...."

The ex-Avenger looks at his daughter, then at Remy. _It can't be... Can it?_ His eyes search the ex-X Men's face desperately for an answer. He's greeted with a hand stroking his cheek, red and black eyes glancing over the features of his face. He looks so soft, so tender... "You.... You do?"

"More dan I ever expected..."

Pietro hitches his breath a little, looking down at his daughter. He breaks away from Remy, trying to process this, and kneels in front of her, petting her hair slowly. "Darling... My little princess, why are you crying? Did... Did something happen?"

The girl shakes her head, hugging her dad around the neck. "No, daddy," she whispers, "I'm just happy... I can see how he feels, and his colors when he's near you are _beautiful_... Like when you are near me. Daddy, he must love you so much..."

He holds her, looking back at Remy, who is smiling, a little blushed. He hugs her, burying his face into her small shoulder. He would trade his life and his soul for her, even of he couldn't trade Wanda's. He can remember, she didn't exist in that "perfect world" his sister had created. He had sacrificed _his own daughter_ to keep his sister safe. One of only a handful of people who had loved him unconditionally, and he sold her out. He cries, apologizing quietly. She should hate him. Everyone should. He feels a set of arms from behind him, a chest pressing to his back as the smaller one in front of him presses closer.

"Daddy, don't be scared. I love you so much... Please don't be scared. I won't leave, daddy, I promise...." She feels her voice tremble, scared for him. She knows her father carries so much on his shoulders, and she wishes she could take that pain from him.

Remy shushes and holds him from behind, his arms locked around his waist, his head pressed to his back. "Neither of us will, chèrie. We both gonna be right here. Me and Luna, Lorna and Doug and Georgia... Even Warlock and Danger. We all here for you, petit..."

Pietro can feel the warmth coming from both of them, their heartbeats so close to his own. For the first time in many, many months, he feels _loved_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter after next will likely be the last. Thank you all for sticking with me through this whole thing and for being so patient waiting for updates!


	22. Part 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Remy and Pietro try a date

"Ah, sorry... The one I wanted to wear was wrinkled. I hope you don't mind..."

Remy turns and looks at the white-haired man. He's wearing one of _his_ shirts; he had gotten that one when the band on the front came to New Orleans one summer. He enjoyed that concert--and he even managed not to get any beer stains on it that night. The shirt is loose on Pietro, since he's smaller, but it matches the aesthetic of the old, worn-out jeans he's wearing. _God, he's gorgeous.._.

"Nah, homme... It looks good on you."

Pietro blushes, looking down. He looks over Remy as he stands in the doorway. He's wearing an older shirt as well, one with a cat on it with grey text. He cocks his head to one side.

"What? Laura got me this shirt; she knows how I feel about my babies."

Pietro shakes his head. He looks up into the man's unique eyes, noting that his hair is pulled up to keep out of their way. Remy walks towards him and caresses his face with one hand. He asks if he's ready to go and Pietro nods.

"Have fun, daddy!" Luna rushes past, playing with Georgia and Warlock. Pietro smiles at her and walks out the door, hand-in-hand with Remy LeBeau.

\------

 _Well, at least he kept his promise. This looks like a nice little place,_  Pietro thinks as he lets Remy lead him into the restaurant. He had begged Remy not to go too extravagant; he had finally caved and let him talk him into going on a date. Pietro didn't think he would be able to trust himself or anyone else in that way again--he had been too hurt, too damaged. Remy didn't seem to think so, at any rate, and had even went so far as to stand by Lorna when Wanda came to "check on him". Lorna had gone off, telling her that she had no right even _looking_ at him after what she had done, what she had allowed to happen. Pietro didn't want to be mad at his twin--she was all he had had for years--but the idea that she had tried to blame all of her issues on _him_ , claiming that  _he_ was the reason she felt trapped, compelled, was enough to stir up his self-loathing again. He didn't leave his room for two days. Remy and Luna and Georgia had come in and sat on his floor and talked to each other and to him until he finally mustered up the strength to eat...

"Hey, amoureux, don't you want nothin' to drink?" Remy grabs his hand--he tries to know when Pietro is getting too lost in his own head. He always does his best to pull him back out.

"Ah... Iced tea, if you don't mind."

The waiter nods and goes to put in their order. Remy keeps his hand on top of the other mutant's. "So... What were you thinking 'bout jus now?"

Pietro shakes his head, smiling just a little. "Um.... Wanda. And Lorna... You... All of this." He sighs, looking at the street.

"Whatchu mean 'all o dis'?"

Pietro presses his lips into a line and closes his eyes. "All of the things that have happened in the past couple of years.... With the Avengers... And my family.... M-Day, Mutant Town... And now this."

Remy cocks his head to one side. "What de matter wit dis?"

The younger man shakes his head. "I can't... Can't seem to wrap my head around it, still. Knowing what I'm responsible for--what I let happen... And yet you're still wanting something like _this_ with me... It just--you've been much kinder to me than I deserve... You could--you could do better."

Remy takes the young man's hands in his, completely covering them. "Listen, homme... All dat shit wit dat sonuvabitch you went through, dat don't mean nothin'. I don't care 'bout dat. And yeah, you done some bad stuff, but I done bad stuff, too. And you had good reasons to do what you did--love fo' your sister an' all... So, even if it wasn't de right t'ing to do, I can understand it. But when I say I love you, Pietro, I meant dat."

Pietro looks at him, almost searchingly. "How can you think that? You've not even really known me for a whole year..."

"Pietro, anyone who can live through what you have... Anyone who can still survive an' try to do better dan before... Especially when dey got your smart mouth and lovin' heart... How can I not love dat?" He smiles sappily at him, his eyes showing nothing but adoration. Pietro is frightened of it--intimidated. Remy notes the hesitation in his eyes and scoots over until he's sitting beside him. The waiter brings out their drinks and takes their order, leaving them to chat and try to ease the tension in the speedster.

By the time the food comes out, Pietro is so nervous he can barely even think of eating. Remy frowns softly at him and picks up a piece of the fish from his plate with a fork, bringing it to his lips.

"Ah.... I--I can feed myself, LeBeau..." Pietro blushes, looking at the table embarrassed.

"I know dat. But you ain't touched it yet.... Won't you take a bite? Hmm? Jus' for me?" The Cajun looks at him with his big eyes, wide and surprisingly convincing.

Pietro sighs, rolling his eyes a little. "Fine... If it'll make you happy." He takes the fish into his mouth, making brief eye contact with his date as he chews and swallows the food. It _is pretty_  good...

Their date continues like this, with Remy feeding Pietro his food, stealing quick kisses to his cheek, and one from his lips during dessert. Pietro has never been too keen on public displays of affection, and having someone this... Ridiculously handsome... Feeding him and kissing him while anyone who wants to watch _can..._. It feels so intimate. A different kind of intimacy than he had with Crystal, or the forced intimacy with _that man_. He could easily run them both back to the building after their lunch, but he asks Remy to walk with him, taking his arm and leaning on it as they make their way back home.

"Remy?"

"Yeah, petit?"

"You really mean it, don't you? That you... That you love me?"

"Of course I do... And if I gotta say it every single hour of de day to make you believe it, I will."

Pietro smiles softly, looking at the pavement in front of them. "No, that... You don't need to do that. But Remy?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you." He smiles at the Cajun mutant, raising up on his toes a little and kissing the corner of his mouth, blushing.

Remy smiles brightly, caressing his face gently, wiping away the tears from the ex-Avenger's eyes and returning with a soft, easy kiss to his lips. "It's my honor, amoureux... Really, it is..."

Pietro shakes his head, smiling and crying silently before feverishly placing his lips on Remy's. All this kindness, all this caring--he never would have thought he deserved it. But coming from this man, who has shown him so much devotion and concern since he started, it feels right. He pulls away, tears brightening his blue eyes. "Let's go _home_ , Remy..."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is the last. Thank you all for your encouragement and support!

**Author's Note:**

> I love this character, I don't know why I do these things to him :')  
> Any characters are the property of Marvel, and not my own. This concept was the brainchild of Esteicy and Necropede, who are good writers and excellent members of our tiny fandom.


End file.
